


Draco Malfoy & the Curious Case of Vulnerability

by niemi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Good Parent Narcissa Black Malfoy, Happy Ending, Harry Potter is Good at Feelings, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, One Shot, Sharing a Bed, Soft Draco Malfoy, and a sofa!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niemi/pseuds/niemi
Summary: Draco apologises to Harry Potter in the least conventional and most unsophisticated manner. A normal person would consider him crazy, but not Potter. It only brings him closer.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 34
Kudos: 363





	Draco Malfoy & the Curious Case of Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, thanks for giving this a chance!  
> The title is unrelated to any of a similar name - just coincidence :)
> 
> ⛧ Translation available in [Spanish](https://www.wattpad.com/story/248099517-draco-malfoy-the-curious-case-of-vulnerability) ⛧

“I didn’t want you to fucking die!”

It came out of nowhere.

One moment, Draco was strolling down the corridor, his chin held high, his posture perfect, pretending as usual as though he wasn’t crippled inside. Then he saw Potter, walking as part of the Golden Trio, and they locked eyes. Potter gave him a Look and it had rippled out of Draco before he could stop it. It had been piling up, the guilt and the horror, until it burst and so now, Draco was yelling across a semi-empty corridor.

“I’ll freely admit that I held a grudge! You hurt my fucking feelings in first year and knocked my ego, so I was a dick to you.” Draco shouted, waving his hands around in crazy gestures. He probably had a deranged expression on his face, one to fit the madness. “I know that and I’m sorry, alright? I never wanted you to _die._ ” He faltered, his voice breaking as it stumbled on his words. “I’m really, _real_ ly sorry....”

Potter was staring at him, a frown on his face. Oh, how Draco hated that frown. He had no idea which intricate emotion was lying behind the frown, but it couldn’t be good. For Salazar’s sake, Draco has just screamed at the chosen one with half the sanity of a long-term prisoner of Azkaban. He noticed Granger’s and Weasley’s expressions now. The latter had his wand out, primed for an attack, and Granger, she was staring like Potter but with something piercing in her eyes.

The next words came from Potter. Draco whipped his gaze towards him to catch them as Potter said the simplest of responses.

“Alright.”

He lifted his eyebrows for a second, to suggest Draco ought to make the next move.

Instead, as Draco stood there, his legs quivering like an anxious child’s, Potter started walking again and strode past, his friends in tow.

Draco was left behind.

*

It was all over the school by lunch. For that reason, amongst many of his usual reasons, Draco avoided the Great Hall. He endured his classes. They were manageable, despite the whispering and Granger’s gaze on his back.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him as they entered Potions. She elbowed him as Draco slid onto his usual seat and began purposefully avoiding her pointed glances.

“For the love of Slytherin, tell me it’s not true.” She hissed at him. Draco pressed his lips together as she stared at the side of his face. “Draco. You did not scream at Harry Potter like… like an _unhinged lunatic_!”

Draco supposed that should have been a question, but he could tell by the grave tone of voice that it was, in fact, a pleading statement. He swallowed. He nodded once. 

Pansy shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. “What on earth were you thinking, Draco?”

Draco said nothing. He kept his eyes glued on Slughorn during his usual drivelling, they shifted to his cauldron once they were set today’s task. He completed it before anybody else, slinking out of his seat to Slughorn with a small vial. Even he fixed Draco with an awkward look, dismissing him from class in an instant, although Draco couldn’t tell whether he’d heard the rumours or whether it was the same look that all the teachers gave him. Pity. 

Not wanting to hear another rumour concerning his crazed outburst, he skipped dinner. As he curled up in his dorm, hundreds of metres above where he used to sleep, he thought he could still hear the gossiping. _Draco Malfoy has finally lost the plot_ , they said. _Serves him right for choosing You-Know-Who’s side. He doesn’t deserve to be here. Who even let him back in?_ Draco began to wonder whether he was in his right mind after all.

*

  
A few nights later, once Pansy had given up on questioning his sanity, Draco continued a routine of his.

He was sick of hiding and staying silent and dodging disgusted glances of fellow students. He was tired of being holed up in classrooms and his dorm room, never staying anywhere else for more than a fleeting moment. It wasn’t much but at 1am, after he listened to the rest of the Eighth Years wander to bed, he slipped out of his room and tiptoed down the stairs to peer into the common room. It was empty, just as he liked it.

The sofa curled around his frame, though it could equally be trying to swallow Draco into its depths, never to be seen again. He dragged the nearby blanket over his legs; it did nothing to solve the cold that sat forever in his chest, pressing on his lungs and his heart. The fire was dwindling, offering no solace, but it provided enough light for Draco to prop his book on his knees and read.

He read until the floorboards behind him creaked. Draco twisted quickly, grabbling for his wand. Potter looked at him with his head tilted to the side, a curious expression on his face. And Draco froze, his wand pointing at Potter.

The latter appeared unfazed. He walked around the couch and settled into the opposite end, ignoring the wand that followed his movements, pulling his knees up to his chest. Potter summoned a blanket from across the room in a murmured command, it settled across his body. Draco was still staring, shamelessly so, but his wand had fallen to his lap.

Potter noticed. He raised an eyebrow. “Ron snores,” he said.

Anybody could’ve told Draco that. Weasley snored so loud that Draco could hear it clearly from his dorm room, one floor below. It was infuriating. He didn’t know how Potter had endured it for seven years. Draco wasn’t sure he’d last until the end of term.

The room stilled as Draco looked away from Potter. It didn’t move, nothing changed, just as nothing changed at 2am on a Thursday night. He should move, there were plenty of adequate sofas placed around the room but none of them were so perfectly adjacent to the fire, so he didn’t.

When Draco returned his gaze, inevitably, to Potter, his eyes were closed and his glasses had been discarded. Potter was tucked into the cushions and he was breathing steadily. He looked more at peace than Draco had ever seen. Draco had seen Potter angry and stupidly happy and on the brink of death. Peace suited him.

Draco was gone by 3am, slipping into his bedsheets with the intention to garner a few hours of sleep (despite Weasley’s incessant snoring). Potter wasn’t in the common room when he walked through in the morning.

The cold pressed a little harder on his chest.

*

Winter was creeping closer. Draco clung to the bright, vibrant colours of autumn. He didn’t want the trees to dissolve into their skeletal corpses of rough bark and pointy branches. He didn’t like winter. It used to be his favourite season but nowadays, the sharp air punctured his lungs and left Draco numb. Last year’s winter had been long enough to last a lifetime. So, he would far prefer rain: the sporadic, living, passionate rainfalls that washed away his thoughts.

Even still, he sat on the brow of one of the slopes by the Great Lake, wrapped in not enough layers and huddled into himself. The air felt frosty, although it was the late afternoon. Pansy had long abandoned him, resolving to spend the remainder of her free period in the library. Draco hadn’t yet found the conviction to leave. He couldn’t look away from the lake and its ripples.

A throat was cleared behind him. “Malfoy.”

Draco cast a glance over his shoulder. Potter was standing a few feet away, hands buried deep in his robes.

“What do you want, Potter?” He asked.

“Come with me.” It was poised as a demand but it seemed to be a question. Potter’s tone was gentle and he never spoke to Draco like that. “Malfoy _, come_ _on_.”

“Give me one reason why I should do that.” Draco was climbing to his feet, swivelling to face Potter, his arms crossed. “The last time I checked you don’t have the authority to order me around.”

“Malfoy.” Potter said pointedly. Draco was beginning to tire of his own surname. “I want to show you something. Let’s go.”

There was a poignant silence. Potter seemed to grow restless within it. His brow twitched and he toyed with his sleeve, not looking away from Draco but not entirely looking at him either.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Draco said, promptly following Potter as he set off in a slow walk upon the response. He caught up in a manner of seconds. “I’m simply curious.”

Potter rolled his eyes, but neither stopped to discuss anything more. They continued to walk, dropping into almost silence, their boots stomping through the frosty mud. They certainly weren't heading in a conventional direction and much to Draco’s displeasure, Potter seemed to be leading them to the castle boundaries. Potter paused on the threshold of the Forbidden Forest and looked across at Draco.

“Don’t look at me like that, Malfoy.” He said. Draco slightly corrected his expression; he couldn’t help it. The Forbidden Forest wasn’t exactly notorious for being a tourist hotspot, and nobody could blame him for imagining with horror what exactly Potter intended to _show him._ Potter fixed him with a sarcastic look. “This is hardly the opportune place to murder you.”

“The lack of witnesses proves otherwise.” Draco retorted almost instantly, his eyes swinging to the shadowed flocks of trees.

“Are you coming?” Potter said, stepping into them. His face was engulfed by darkness as he looked over his shoulder. “I swear on my rarest Chocolate Frog card that I have no intentions of killing, maiming or seriously harming you.”

Draco scoffed, following Potter’s footsteps with care. “On your collectable card? That’s incredibly reassuring, thank you, Potter.”

“It’s the centaurs you need to watch out for, not me,” Potter smirked. “Watch your step.”

Without another word, Draco was led deeper and deeper into the forest. Distant noises rippled from all angles and amongst the creaking of trees swaying in the breeze. They towered over Draco, sneering at his weak body, at his stumbling. Their roots carried out their bidding, springing up from the ground. Draco raced to catch up from Potter, who walked through the forest as effortlessly as he did everything nowadays.

They reached a clearing after a few minutes, Draco hot on Potter’s heels – so much so that he almost crashed into Potter, slamming on the brakes. Potter looked around until his gaze settled on a particular, uninteresting spot of the ground. It was no different than the rest of this miserable forest. Although, it was particularly chilly here.

Potter lifted his arm, extending a finger to point at the spot. “That’s where I died.”

It looked a little different now. Draco noticed that the air was completely still here, he lifted his eyes and noticed that nothing was moving. The forest was cowering away from the clearing, creating a sturdy barricade of branches and leaves. In an instant of realisation, Draco recognised that chilling feeling he felt. Dark magic. The Killing Curse. He shivered.

“Your mum lied; I suppose you know that by now.” Potter continued after a moment. “She saved my life, I owe that much to her. Everything could have been, er, very different. After all, I can only survive death so many times.”

Draco said nothing. He didn’t move his gaze from the spot on the ground that oozed dark magic. It was stained with the imprint of death. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t know how Potter could stand it.

“You saved my life too.” Potter was still talking. His eyes were on Draco. “I never thanked you for that. Thank you, Draco.”

“Don’t –” Draco’s voice cracked. “Don’t thank me.”

“Too late,” Potter said. He was probably smiling. He did ridiculous things like that: smiling at inappropriate times, acting all high and mighty, saving the world. “I’m not taking it back.”

Draco turned away from the clearing.

He didn’t like exposing his back to it. He felt vulnerable and he couldn’t bear it: the familiar feeling of fear that nestled into his heart. He moved away, stepping out of the clearing by a foot’s length. The heavy weight lifted.

Potter appeared at his side. “Your turn.”

“Excuse me?” Draco swung his eyes to Potter. He didn’t know what Potter’s intentions were, he didn’t have a clue, and that terrified him.

“I think it’s about time you let somebody in, Draco,” Potter said and Draco rapidly looked away, glaring at his feet. His jaw tightened. Who was Harry Potter to tell him what he should do? “It doesn’t have to be me. But you should talk to someone.”

“Talking solves nothing. Don’t be naïve.” Draco spat back. “It doesn’t turn back the fucking time.”

“It makes the rest of your life a little easier though.”

“Don’t lecture me, Potter.” Draco rolled his hands into fists and crossed his arms.

Potter shrugged. “Alright. Do you know your way out?”

Draco rolled his eyes and pivoted on the spot, casting a glare at the identical paths that led away from here. “Obviously not.”

“Right, let’s go then.”

They strode through the forest again, in the same silence, and Draco had the same unnerved feeling as before. He kept his eyes strictly on the ground, avoiding the forest’s attempts to bring him to his knees. Potter said nothing. They reached the castle grounds in half the time.

Draco set off in the opposite direction to Potter. He would take the longest detour to class if he must. There was a gaze on his back. Draco ignored it.

Potter was playing a game. He wouldn’t drag Draco any further into it.

*

That night, Potter joined Draco on the couch again, ignoring Draco’s (ultimately harmless) glaring, and wiggled his way into the same spot. He left his glasses on the neighbouring table and rubbed his eyes as a blanket floated across the common room to sprawl against Potter. It missed the tips of his feet though, Potter’s toes wiggling in the cold before they slipped under the blanket. Draco shifted his gaze to his book.

He left half an hour later, once he’d finished several chapters and Potter was fast asleep, his fringe splayed messily against his forehead. The floorboards creaked under Draco’s weight but Potter didn’t stir. As Draco slipped under his covers, he wondered whether Potter stayed there the entire night. Nobody could blame him; Weasley’s snoring was shaking the tower tonight.

Potter was back the following evening, dressed in ridiculous muggle pyjamas with yellow bears printed on the bottoms. Draco cast a disgusted look at them before the blanket hid them from view. Potter said nothing. And Draco resisted the temptation to fall asleep there and then.

Potter didn’t say anything the following night either, or the night after or the night after that. He didn’t seem to bother trying to communicate with Draco anymore. He acknowledged Draco’s existence in class and caught his eye every once in a while, but nothing more. Words were becoming an unfamiliar terrain between the pair. Draco wouldn’t even mind if it was his surname that was said, anything to resolve this uncomfortable limbo. He didn’t say anything either. Although, one night, he fetched Potter’s blanket on his way to the couch and left it at the other side of the sofa.

It was only a blanket, made of wool, but Potter smiled at it the first night that he found it in his spot. He threw it across himself by hand and tucked himself in, nuzzling into the corner of the couch. And so, Draco fell into a new habit. Every night, he made a slight detour in his beeline for the couch, scooping up Potter’s blanket. And Potter would smile at it, his lips lifting sleepily. Draco wanted to know what he was thinking.

Another week passed. Potter even slept here on the weekends. And those muggle pyjamas seemed to be a favourite of his, too often matched with a hideous pair of woolly socks. They certainly made it easier for Potter to sneak up on Draco before he slung himself over the back of the sofa. Not to mention, Potter was appearing earlier and earlier too.

On Thursday night, Potter beat him to the couch. It was two days until the Christmas holidays and Draco had admittedly fallen asleep in his bed for a few hours, who could blame him after an entire day of NEWTs preparation? He’d risen earlier in the morning too, in order to squeeze in a couple of extra hours in the library. Pansy had met him there, looking equally worse for wear, and they’d crawled through the regret and the textbooks until Breakfast.

So, Draco stumbled down the stairs to the common room a few minutes later than usual. Potter was already there, wrapped in a warm bubble, smiling into the blanket. Draco lowered himself onto his side of the couch. He made a point of opening his book, even though the words all merged into another and taunted him in gibberish.

He dropped his book to the floor after a few minutes of feigned interest and pulled his own blanket to his chin, casting his eyes warily to Potter. Surely a few hours wouldn’t do any harm. Potter never woke anyway. Draco would be gone by the time he rose. Reassured by his own fatigued logic, Draco curled into his corner and let his eyes flutter closed. Sleep didn’t usually come easily, haunted by twisted visions and nasty thoughts, but Draco drifted toward it. It beckoned him, singing a gentle lullaby. He exhaled.

He woke at dawn, the light streaming in from the tall windows, pushing past Draco’s eyelids to rouse him. Draco shuffled, trying to evade the inevitable call of consciousness. He gave up after another minute and peeled his eyes open. Everything was glowing a soft shade of yellow. Draco blinked. He looked across the couch and immediately caught Potter’s eyes.

They were sleepy and not as bright as usual, but they had a slight twinkle.

“Is it my turn now?” Potter said, his voice hoarse and rough and nothing like Draco had heard before. It was unfamiliar and familiar, carving out the words as though they were always fated to be spoke.

“I don’t understand,” Draco said slowly, breaking their gazes to push himself to a more sophisticated posture.

“To be vulnerable.” Potter propped his elbow against the side of the sofa and pressed his cheek into his palm. His voice was picking up its usual tone. “I guess it’s my turn again.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. Potter’s game was a confusing sort. It must be a longwinded trick. He didn’t like it; he didn’t like complications. Potter was complicated and deceiving and brave. Draco didn’t want to know what his games entailed.

Potter yawned, covering his mouth. He blinked a few times, his eyes remaining on Draco. “I might as well get it out the way now.”

“Potter, I haven’t worked out what you’re up to yet, but I highly recommend you carry out your schemes on your friends instead. You—"

“I bet you don’t know about the muggles that raised me.” Potter interrupted, he rubbed his eyes as he spoke, and his throat strained as if he was swallowing a yawn. “I'm surprised the, er, Daily Prophet hasn’t done a bloody four-page spread on the topic. You see, my bedroom for ten years was the cupboard under the stairs. Not the kind of grand, extravagant staircase at your house - we lived in a semi-detached, three-bedroom house with narrow, steep steps to the first floor. I suppose I was still small enough at that age, but I was lucky my Hogwarts letter came when it did. That’s what Hermione says anyway.”

Draco was staring. “A—a cupboard?”

“I wasn’t a normal First Year, I guess you could say, what with Voldemort trying to kill me. But at least Hogwarts fed me properly. And even when the Dursleys started, er, feeding me three meals a day, they put bars on my window like I was a criminal.” Potter was talking to the fire at this point, a distant look on his face. “I used to wish I had a different childhood, a _happy_ childhood, my parents. I still do but I can’t do anything to change it, just as much as I can’t change the Dursleys.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Draco asked quietly, he stared at his lap, turning Potter’s revelation over and over in his mind. Potter was supposed to have the perfect childhood, he lived with family and family wasn’t supposed to abuse a child. He was the chosen one. He was potentially one of the most famous wizards in history and those filthy muggles did what to him?

Potter shrugged. “It’s good to talk about it. I see no reason not to tell you. The days get a little easier when you talk about the hard times.”

“Life is not that simple.” Draco frowned and clambered to his feet, slipping his bare feet into his slippers. He began to walk away, heading for the safety of his bed where quiet would reign supreme.

“Try it, Draco. Life isn’t fair but you can make it a little bit simpler.”

The words made Draco pause in the doorway, his arms hanging limply by his sides. He almost turned, ready to argue with every bitter bone in his body. But he stopped. He resisted the temptation to look back at Potter and pushed onwards. He left Potter alone in the common room, no different from usual.

Although, there was a difference. Draco was feeling something he hadn’t felt for a long time, something he couldn’t place.

*

They locked eyes once as they both navigated across the busy train platform at Kings Cross. Draco looked away at the same time as Potter, dropping the gaze that nobody else knew the significance of. Nobody knew that Potter spoke to Draco as his equal, nobody would possibly imagine their saviour making small talk with a former Death Eater. Draco turned and made the journey home alone.

Christmas didn’t carry its festive mood to Malfoy Manor this year. It didn’t usually.

Draco’s father remained in his room every moment of the day and night, only offering a glance as greeting to Draco once he arrived. Besides the house arrest situation, it wasn’t particularly different to any other Christmas. Draco’s father had never been impressed by the notion of the festive period, made popular by deluded muggles.

The infamous day itself was cold and miserable and Draco could feel the Dark Lord’s presence engraved into every wall and floorboard. It was stronger on the 25th. And so, Draco followed his father’s lead and holed up in his own room for most of the day. His gift had been requested by himself in the days prior so there was no remarkable excitement there.

His mother was noticeably concerned for his sanity and confused when Draco had asked. She couldn’t understand, even once he’d explained in the only terms that he understood it. Even still, she sought out the very best for her son and three days after Christmas, Draco had his first appointment with the only wizarding therapist in the country. It wasn’t a fruitful business, he heard, it was a so-called muggle occupation, after all. But his mother had heard from a friend of a client of theirs that the service was not only remarkable but might just spark the next wizarding fad. 

She dropped him off at 10am, leaving him to stare up at a quaint building. The stairs were a steep climb and the reception was unimpressive and rickety, only a high, circular desk separating him from an ancient witch hunched on a stool. Her glasses were perched on the very tip on her nose, her wrinkles extended from the corner of her eyes to every inch of her face and her hair sat on the top of her head in a messy slob. He introduced himself and signed a disclaimer at her command, thanking her politely as he strode two paces to the trio of seats opposite. They all sank willingly at his presence.

A short wait later, the oak door beside the desk creaked open. A feminine voice called his name.

“Mr Malfoy?”

Draco rose to his feet, following the woman from one uncomfortable, rigid seat to a tattered couch in the only adjoined room. The door clicked closed behind him. The woman was directly in front of him, a notepad placed on her lap. She smiled unconvincingly. A pair of teacups was floating between them, spoons stirring the contents.

“My name is Margaret Bixley. During our sessions, I will not judge, criticise nor will I reveal any of the information disclosed to the outside world. Everything you say remains in these four walls _unless_ I am concerned that you pose a threat to the welfare of somebody else.” She stated it all matter-of-factly. She did not drawl, she spoke with eloquence, Draco liked her already. “Now, Draco, where would you like to begin?”

He stumbled. He wasn’t as prepared as he’d thought he was.

“Take your time. Your mother insisted on a full two hours, she was quite particular, I recall.” Ms Bixley encouraged him forward with a brief lift of her eyebrows. It reminded Draco of Potter. “I’d suggest starting with whatever comes to mind.”

“I… Well, I…” Draco paused and inhaled. He would not waste his mother’s money, the little that she had left. “I had apologised to everybody but _him_. I’d apologised to Luna and Weasley and Granger, even if they hadn’t accepted it, and the teachers and all the bloody house-elves I could find. I guess it all came out at once when I saw him that morning.”

Ms Bixley didn’t understand at that point, but she watched him leave at lunchtime with a long list of remarks jotted on her notepad.

He returned the next week. She greeted him with a smile and a cup of tea. Draco listened a little, but it was mainly him talking, sifting through the influx of damaging thoughts that cropped up at each subject. He left once they’d conceived a plan to continue their discussions during term time.

Draco’s mother was waiting outside the building, hidden in the shadows. She embraced him, tugging at his cheeks and uttering something about how thin he was getting. Draco bought her a coffee and a slice of cake in a muggle cafe, feeling surprisingly less bitter about wizarding cafes refusing to serve them – it certainly helped when the cashier smiled at him and made light-hearted conversation about his namesake. His mother watched him curiously.

She accompanied him to Kings Cross at the end of the holidays, stopping at the entrance to kiss his cheeks and pull his into her arms. She smiled apologetically as he headed in alone, looking back. Pansy filled in for her absence, slipping into stride beside him.

“How were your holidays, Draco?” Pansy asked. Her parents were nowhere to be seen either.

He shrugged. “Awful, but not as bad as I expected.”

That was the most triumphant statement he had made since the War. Life was continuing, whether Draco was tagging along or not. And for the first time in years, he felt like he might stop getting dragged along without a choice in the matter.

Granger and Weasley walked past their table on the train after boarding and Draco knew that only meant one thing. He glanced over his shoulder and lo behold, his eyes caught Potter’s. They were bright and he’d had a haircut, black strands of hair no longer tickling his nape.

Potter smiled slightly, lifting the left side of his lips upwards. Draco smiled slightly in return. Then, Potter was gone, the door sliding closed behind him. The carriage was buzzing with noise and Pansy was prodding him on the shoulder, presumably to show him the latest line of ballgowns as though Draco held the mildest of interests, but he was preoccupied with a stark thought.

He never thought he’d see the day that he missed Potter. Draco realised he’d spent his entire holidays wishing for one particular person’s company. And some of the emotions, no matter how reluctant they had been, were making sense.

He’d missed Harry Potter more than he cared to admit.

*

It was half-past one when Potter decided to show himself and pad across the common room with sleepy eyes and drowsy limbs. He clambered onto the centre of the couch, slinging a blanket around his shoulders.

“Draco?” He said softly and Draco didn’t know how he’d lasted two weeks without the sound of Potter’s voice. He had taken his glasses off, his gaze fixed on Draco’s arm. “You’d make an excellent pillow.”

“You will not use me as such, Potter,” Draco replied firmly, propping his book at a sharper angle on his legs. Draco eyed Potter and jerked his body as close to the edge of the sofa as possible. It was helpless though, the saggy sofa was determined to slump them together.

“You see,” Potter said. “I’ve never been very good at following instructions.“

Draco made a move to stand up, to usher himself out of whatever alternate universe he’d stumbled upon. But Potter rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, it was a hard, foreign weight on his shoulder that somehow didn’t feel out of place, and Draco paused. His mind listed all the possible schemes of Potter’s this action could be linked to, eliminating the least likely. Only a short list remained.

“Potter, you-“

“Hush. I need a nap.”

He was not sure why he had no choice in the matter, yet his body complied. Draco leant back into the sofa, reassuming his previous position, and Potter’s head wriggled in place, settling. There was hair tickling his neck and Draco strained away from it, twisting his body into an incredibly uncomfortable position to guarantee minimal contact with Potter, and Potter, unaffected, continued to nuzzle into Draco’s shoulder, his legs tucked beside him.

Draco’s body remained stiff for a further eleven minutes, not daring to move and face the wrath of a sleepy Potter. Eventually, once the breathing had settled to a calm, steady pace, Draco relaxed a fraction. He stared at the pages of his book, begging the words to give him some sort of explanation to this strange phenomenon. They didn’t. They simply sat there patiently until Draco blinked a few times in quick succession and began reading again, wholly aware of the man settled against his side.

The sun was peeking over the horizon by the time Potter moved again. it was only a couple of hours before breakfast when he rose from Draco’s shoulder, pulled his glasses from his pocket, slipped them onto his nose and stood up. Potter stretched his arms to the ceiling, his t-shirt rising to reveal a sliver of skin before it fell into hiding again.

“See you at breakfast, Draco.” Said Potter.

He said nothing in return. He caught Potter’s eyes four hours later in class, looking worse for wear with two hours’ sleep under his belt, and his lips must’ve curved into some poor attempt at a smile because Potter was smiling back at him. Then, Granger nudged him and he was gone. Draco was left to stare at his back for the rest of the lesson.

*

Potter joined him on the couch that night. His hair was messy and rugged and he had tired eyes. His jawline was sharp and his cheeks were soft, which Draco learnt as Potter laid down and rested his head on Draco’s thigh. Once again, Draco didn’t move a muscle. He stared down at the man resting on him.

Eyes were closed, lips were pouted, nose was sharp. It was Potter in his simplest form.

“Potter?” Draco whispered. His book had fallen into the side of the sofa, sinking into the crevasse with no hope of rescue. It was one of his favourites, but he let it fall. Potter wasn’t reacting. “Hey, Potter! Hey. _Harry_.”

The sly bastard opened his eyes and tilted his head to look up at Draco. Merlin, he looked ethereal. The fire was casting shades of orange and amber and gold across his complexion; it lit his freckles alive. Draco couldn’t turn away.

“Yes?”

Draco swallowed and cleared his throat. He said, “I thought I made myself clear yesterday, I won’t be used as a pillow.”

“But it’s a far more efficient use of space. You can read and I can sleep.” Harry said, smirking. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I certainly would not,” Draco replied briskly. He made no move to leave and stayed in place. Potter watched him for a moment. Then he rolled his cheek back against Draco’s thigh and smiled.

“Don’t be a prat, Draco.” He said in a whisper.

“That’s rather difficult when the saviour of the Wizarding World is so bloody demanding!” Draco whispered back, although he was settling into the situation and made a point of propping up his book on the side cushion.

“Hush,” Harry’s voice urged in a soft tone. He exhaled particularly heavily, the hot air grazing Draco’s knee.

“Yes, sir.” It was taunting, perhaps enough to warrant a reaction but Harry didn’t stir. He laid perfectly still, looking so small and harmless and worthy of kindness, and Draco watched him for a while.

Well, he watched Harry and his gentle breathing until the last embers in the fireplace had faded to black. By then it was too dark to skim the story in Draco’s book and his wand was trapped within his robes, so Draco made do without magic or light. He tipped his head backwards and closed his eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

Because dreams were nothing but threats in disguise, as he’d learnt in recent months. All they ever did was lift his spirits, give him a moment to dream, only to watch them all crash and burn.

Anyway, Draco was somewhat content with the uninteresting life he led without any unnecessary and pointless dreams to juggle. He had plenty; he had his mother and his studies and his friends and Harry, he supposed. Although, in the eyes of the world, nobody truly had Harry.

Maybe he’d let that small dream crawl into his heart: Harry. After all, that dream could only harm one person: Draco.

*

Harry didn’t seem to particularly care who saw them, he appeared to have no qualms about his reputation. Saying that, Draco noticed that he also waited until everybody had fallen asleep to tiptoe down the stairs and join Draco on the couch. Each time, he settled into Draco with a sheepish grin. For some reason, neither of them found the need to say much at all.

Harry would stay until gone 4am and Draco read until he woke and dragged Draco up the stairs by the wrist.

“Go sleep!” Harry would mumble in a sleepy, semi-aggressive manner and deposit Draco at his room with a wordless point at the door. And Draco would roll his eyes and slip into his room. He would listen to Harry creep up the stairs until his footsteps merged into Weasley’s snoring. Draco would fall into bed and sleep restlessly.

Tonight was no different, except for one meaningful disruption that left Draco wondering if Harry would ever come find him again.

It was only midnight and for the second night, Draco was having trouble resisting the temptation of sleep. He had the steady warmth of Harry’s head against his leg, it lured him to sleep. Only the rustle of the fire was keeping him fully conscious.

The portrait entrance creaked open and a pair of low voices carried themselves through to the common room. The bodies accompanying them appeared a moment later. It was Granger and Parvati, talking in hushed tones and both clutching textbooks to their chests. They looked exhausted and didn’t notice Draco. That is, until Granger sent Parvati on without her, stopping to pick up a stray cushion from the floor.

Her eyes swung casually around the room and paused when they fell upon Draco and dropped to Harry’s sleeping body. She stepped forward, her mouth opening, an accusatory expression on her face.

Draco hushed her, pressing a finger to his lips. “Let him sleep.”

Granger narrowed her eyes, tossing several glances between Draco and Harry. His cheek was squashed against Draco’s thigh as it had been for 20 minutes, sleeping soundly with the blanket tucked around his shoulders. He looked at peace. So, Draco challenged Granger’s suspicion with a loaded glare. She caved and backed away, keeping her eyes on them until she reached the stairs. Then, she was gone.

The common room felt calm again. Draco smiled down at Harry. If this was to be their last night, he would make the most of it.

His fingers wove into the long strands of Harry’s hair. It was soft, as he’d always suspected, and knotted and it danced through his fingers until Potter woke up. He dragged Draco upstairs by the same hand and delivered him to his dorm.

“You really need to sleep more,” Harry whispered, his eyes scanning Draco’s with concern, disregarding the simple fact that he was the sole reason that Draco didn’t. (Well, maybe not the _only_ reason). He stepped forward, his fingers lifting to cup Draco’s jaw and trace the bags beneath his eyes. “You look exhausted during our classes.”

Draco just nodded and Harry’s touch was gone as quick as it came, though it skimmed his lips for the briefest of moments. He clasped the door handle in his palm. “Goodnight.”

Harry tilted his head to the side, looking at Draco, all shadows and harsh angles. “Goodnight, Draco. Sleep well.”

It had been more than six months since Draco had found somewhere safe to sleep. Even still, he never slept well. But he nodded again and watched Harry leave. Always leaving. Why did everyone have to leave?

*

Granger was watching Draco as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning. Pansy was at his side complaining, about exams, with the same intensity as fifth year. Suddenly, Harry was walking towards them, ignoring Granger as she called after him.

“Will you join us?” Harry said once he reached them and Pansy looked behind them. Her expression returned in confusion once she realised Harry meant the pair of them. “Draco? You too, Pansy, of course – if you like.”

Pansy relaxed her shoulders and with the perfected charisma of a pure-blood daughter, she smiled. “We’d be delighted. Right, Draco?”

He nodded stiffly, his eyes flying to Granger and Weasley. They seemed displeased when the two joined them, offering weak smiles, and huddled closer on the other side of the table. Draco was wedged between Harry and Pansy, his knees knocking together to avoid Harry’s.

“Harry, I owe you an apology.” Pansy said from his right-side. Her voice was charming and light, precisely designed to win over even the least susceptible recipient.

“You don’t need to-” Harry was interrupted.

“I do and I am not inclined to follow Draco’s lead. He certainly found an unconventional way of expressing his feelings.” She continued and Draco could feel heat snaking around his neck and lighting up his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Harry, for every way that I wronged you. I hope we can make amends this year.”

Harry was nodding, Draco was vaguely aware of that fact, and was probably saying something to accept the apology in a noble fashion. He, meanwhile, was entirely focused on reining in his severe case of blushing. Not much availed, he kept his gaze on his porridge as Pansy made small talk. Granger asked them stilted questions and Draco provided pained answers. Harry’s foot bumped into his every once in a while, and he’d throw fleeting glances, but Draco stayed still.

They split for classes with the rest of the school, Draco walking ahead with Pansy. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder but by the time he turned, Harry was veering in a different direction with Hermione on his arm. Draco wished on his perfectly brewed potion that afternoon that he could start life over and maybe, he’d manage to do a few things right.

*

Harry found him tonight curled up on the armchair.

He stopped in front of Draco, his hands held out. “Are you going to stay there all night?”

“What did Granger say?” Draco asked, ignoring his question and the offering of warm hands. Draco pulled his blanket tighter around himself. “She saw us last night.”

“I know,” Harry said softly, “I love her, and Ron, you know that. They’ve been my family for eight years, but I can make my own decisions, Draco.” He offered his hands once again. “C’mon.”

Draco looked at them hesitantly, he followed the wrinkles and lines with his gaze and then, he slid his hands into Harry’s. He let himself be pulled to his feet. The floor was cold but he followed Harry to the couch. Harry laid down the length as he usually did, tugging on the cushion to act as a makeshift pillow, and patted the strip of sofa that was free. It was tempting, staring down at Harry’s slender body and his wayward hair which perfectly orbited his gorgeous face - anything was tempting when Harry Potter so much as asked.

“Last chance,” Harry hummed and the blanket was lifting itself off the back of the couch, unfolding itself in the air. Draco cast a short glance at it and laid beside Harry in time for the blanket to cover them both. Harry wiggled in place, his shoulder sinking into the cushions. “So, how was your day?”

Draco looked at him. Harry paid no attention; he was preoccupied adjusting the blanket, shifting it so that it wrapped around Draco’s shoulder. “It was fine,” Draco said.

“All the professors are banging on about NEWTs being around the corner-” Harry said, his eyes shifting to meet Draco’s as they laid inches apart. He blinked. “-and that we should make the most of—”

“What are we doing, Potter?” Draco interrupted suddenly - _harshly_ \- in the way he didn’t want to say it.

“I thought you were supposed to be the connoisseur of small talk, Draco – coming from an ‘ _elite’_ family like yours and all. ” Harry was saying, straight-faced. “Admittedly, it doesn’t usually precede sleep, but I’m sure you can handle it.”

“What? No, I—"

“Go on, tell me about your day,” Harry said, looking rather pleased with himself that he’d successfully cut Draco off with only so much as a glare in response. “I dare you.”

“Sleep, Potter,” Draco said in warning, though Harry was uninfluenced by the most venomous of looks. Draco realised he’d probably been on the other end of worse, far worse.

“How’s this?” Harry was smiling, his eyes closed. He looked positively smug. “I’m practically asleep. So, go on – your day, how was it really?”

“I’m not sure my answer will satisfy you,” Draco replied swiftly. He tugged the blanket up to his chin as he spoke, shuffling beneath it so that his limbs lay strictly separate from Harry’s because he could already feel the heat flooding out of Harry. It was too tempting for a man like Draco, far too tempting. 

“I’ll listen to whatever you have to say, Draco.” Said Harry. “Go ahead.”

“Seriously…? Harry!” Draco wanted to lecture him, tell him why they shouldn’t be sharing the same sofa, the same oxygen, not like this, inches from one another. Perhaps he should insist upon distance, he could hardly confess that he wished to hold Harry close and protect him. No, he couldn’t say that. Instead, Draco figured he could make Harry proud. “I took your advice. I saw my therapist today. She rents a tiny office in Hogsmeade twice a month to talk with me, she’s quite remarkable.”

Harry opened his eyes.

“We drink tea and we discuss my feelings and my past and everything that I’ve never told somebody. Sometimes, she shows me pictures of her cats.” Draco continued, looking anywhere but Harry. He could picture them now, Lana and Lucy the cats were called. “She hopes that, someday, more wizards will understand the importance of this muggle ‘ _counselling_ ’, that they’ll learn why we must talk about the war and our losses and our weaknesses. I think I agree with her.”

Harry spoke up in the pause. “Does she help?”

Draco nodded slowly, a frown pushing through. “I wasn’t sure it would do anything, but I can already feel… a change – that must count for something.”

“It does.” Harry said firmly, finally luring Draco’s gaze to meet his and he smiled. “We choose who we become, Draco. _You_ can choose. It doesn’t always matter if we remain the same or change or grow, as long as we recognise the choice.”

“You’ve been spending far too much time with Dumbledore’s portrait.” Draco said, using his valuable choice to ignore Harry’s heavy words for a while longer. He watched Harry grin sleepily. “For now, I will choose to sleep.”

“Wise decision,” Said Harry, fighting a yawn with no success. He looked at Draco for a stolen moment then his eyes closed. “Professor Dumbledore would be proud.”

With that, Draco succumbed to the lure of sleep. As he slipped from consciousness, he knew one thing. Harry would never know Dumbledore as well as he thought he did. Proud? Of Draco? Dumbledore would be stirring in his grave.

*

Draco woke at sunrise and Harry stirred in the subsequent minutes. His hand was on Draco’s hip, his touch warm and solid and light. It was everything that Draco had never known. He daren’t move, not until Harry opened his eyes blearily and found Draco looking back at him.

“What?” Harry said groggily. He lifted his hand to rub his eyes and Draco’s body went cold, not even a ghostly warmth remained on his hip.

“It’s nothing,” Draco replied swiftly. He lifted the blanket off himself and rose to a stand, bare feet against freezing stone. Harry rolled his head back, slipping to the edge of sleep once more. “I’m going to my room.”

Harry thrust his hands out of the blanket, they stretched into the air perpendicular to his body, and wiggled his fingers – a silent demand. Draco rolled his eyes, conceding, and lifted Harry to a seated position.

“Mmph. Ron doesn’t snore so badly in the mornings.”

They departed, Harry at his heel once he’d managed to roll off the sofa in his disorientated state. They split as they usually did, pausing at Draco’s door. Harry didn’t say anything. He only squeezed Draco on the shoulder and left, the blanket draped over his shoulders.

Around midnight, they found one another again. Harry laid down first, Draco followed and this time, he listened to Harry. Draco listened until they fell asleep and Harry’s hand came to rest on Draco’s hip once more. They woke at sunrise and parted ways, they smiled across the Great Hall at breakfast, Harry nudged him in Potions as he passed his desk, one of them found the other waiting in the common room once night had fallen. Draco lost count of the days he woke with Harry’s body heat spread to warm him beneath the blanket.

They were drawing closer. Harry’s hand was curling around to Draco’s back now, his body marginally closer. And Draco woke up each time far closer to Harry than when sleep had beckoned.

Winter was beginning to ease when something changed. 

One night, Draco tiptoed across his room at 12:08 am. His fingers wrapped around the cold doorknob and tugged, wincing as the hinges betrayed him, creaking. Harry was on the other side. He stopped Draco with a hand simply pressed flat against the door. And with bleary eyes, he stepped into the room, hooked Draco’s wrist into his grip and led Draco back to his bed.

Macmillan’s heavy breathing filled the air as Harry crawled onto Draco’s bed, settling in a cross-legged position, and tugged on his wrist. Draco stumbled and followed without the chance to protest. Harry flicked his wand and the bed curtains all closed. He muttered a _Muffliato_ under his breath and Draco caught sight of a glimmer in the air, although it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Harry was looking at him, through tired eyes, and he smiled. He did that so effortlessly. “C’mon, I’ve got a class test tomorrow and I wouldn’t mind getting 6 hours of sleep.” Said Harry as he slid beneath Draco’s sheets and sunk into the pillow.

“You really need to work on your ginormous ego—” Draco remarked as he laid down in the vacant space beside Harry and let the covers fall on top of him. His toes were cold from the stone floor. The chill was spreading from his toes to his hips and above, egging on his muttered complaints. “Ordering me about, clambering into _my_ bed without so much as asking, using me as a bloody pillow…”

“My apologies, your highness.” Said Harry, fully settled now into his place. He clutched the duvet in one fist, his hair splayed across the silk pillowcase and his glasses abandoned to the side. “I promise not to make any demands for 18 hours of the day.”

Draco looked at Harry, his face not far from his own. There was something simultaneously charming and surreal about this situation. Harry’s eyes were bright in this lightless box, and Draco smiled at him. “I suppose I can live with that.”

*

“So, this boy, what exactly does he make you feel?” Ms Bixley was asking, her new spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. They were red and had square lenses, perhaps a style Luna would consider; Draco should recommend them the next time she bothers to talk to him again.

“My mother pays you so that I can talk about the past,” Draco said, his cheeks flushing a subtle shade of pink. “We are going off-topic.”

“I’ll remind you, Draco, that it was you who mentioned the boy and proceeded to recount your entire history with him.” Ms Bixley observed him over her glasses, all-knowing and all-seeing. She raised her eyebrows. “As I’ve explained before, you are in control of our conversation. Although, perhaps this boy is somebody worth talking about.”

Draco shook his head. “It’s nothing. He’s nothing.”

“And he’s everything at the same time?” Ms Bixley remarked, scribbling on her notepad with one of those curious muggle contraptions. A pen – pointless, if you asked Draco. “I’d suggest you figure out _who_ and _what_ is important to you at Hogwarts, Draco – before it’s too late.”

Draco stared at her. Then, he changed the subject. But nothing could stop the train of thought chugging around the back of his mind.

Less than four months to go. He’d be leaving his home for good and moving on. Would anybody be coming with him?

*

Harry grabbed his hand and tugged on it. They were in the middle of a corridor, the odd student pacing towards them, in broad daylight. Draco tried to yank his hand away.

Harry had come out of nowhere; one moment, Draco was taking a detour to the library, making the most of his free period with the looming pressure of exams hovering over him. He had a plan: find a seat somewhere in a dark corner of the library and ignore human existence for two hours until he wrapped his fatigued head around five of the examinable arithmancy assignments. Pansy was under specific instructions not to speak to him until the weekend.

There was no shaking Harry though, he clung on insistently and pulled Draco into an alcove. He raised his eyebrows and pushed a low brick. They were swung into a dark passageway and Draco finally wrenched his hand out of Harry’s death grip.

“What the fuck are you doing, Potter?” He hissed, disregarding the fact that nobody could hear them in here.

“Back to Potter?” Harry scoffed, “I was quite enjoying Harry.”

“And I was quite enjoying my free period,” Draco said pointedly, looking away with his chin lifted high. It was awfully dusty in here, the particles were crawling under his skin (and his freshly washed robes). “What do you want… _Harry_?”

Harry grinned and he had that mischievous look in his eyes, it sparkled. “Nothing in particular. I just saw you brooding and figured you wouldn’t mind a chat.”

“You were wrong.” Draco folded his arms, rolling his eyes. His expression was slipping though, as Harry smiled, clearly not buying his act. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Then, I guess I was wrong,” Harry said.

He leaned closer, peering into Draco’s face. Draco looked back at him, taking in the messy hair and bright eyes and gentle wrinkles on his face, and didn’t say anything. He could shrug and leave. He could shove Harry away. He wasn’t going to do either.

Harry was close, so close that Draco could count his eyelashes.

Harry smiled and in one quick movement, his lips pressed against Draco’s. They were soft and warm and chapped from the winter air and… gone. They were gone before Draco could even close his eyes. Harry’s lips said something.

Then, Harry disappeared through the same entrance that they’d entered. Draco grabbed the air where he’d been a moment before. His dejected hand flew to his lips, tracing the imprint of pink lips on his. He caught his breath.

Harry had said, “But I’d like to think I was right.”

*

There was a gentle rapping on Draco’s door.

It was almost two in the morning and Draco had accepted that he wouldn’t see Harry; not only was Draco not going to the common room but Harry hadn’t come to find him either.

How were they supposed to continue after that kiss? It was barely even a kiss; Draco would classify it as a peck, but it still came from Harry. That changed a whole lot of everything.

Draco hadn’t been kissed in practically years. There had been a bit of fooling around in sixth year, girls being used as stress relief and mindless distraction. Yet, in the longest time, nothing had given Draco butterflies quite like that… _peck_. The warmth seemed to linger on his lips. And he had spent his evening trying to keep his hands by his sides, since far too often he had found them grazing his lips. He wanted to know the bumps and ridges of Harry’s lips as well as he knew his own from today alone.

Two quiet knocks were repeated on the door. Draco stared at the door, wide awake but reluctant. Would Harry be the same? Would _he_? Draco knew how to play the innocent fool, he knew how to feign disinterest. It would be no trouble acting as though nothing had happened. Even still, he had an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach. Because Harry made him want to be 99.8% honest, which was an accomplishment for almost any Slytherin.

He had glided silently across the room before he was aware of his body moving and he opened the door. It threatened him with a low creak but ultimately revealed Harry, looking dishevelled and wearing those ridiculous yellow pyjama bottoms. He stepped into the stairwell.

“Draco—”

“You have an interesting taste in sleepwear,” Draco said, cutting him off with perfected ease. He lowered his gaze to the pot-bellied character that was printed repeatedly on Harry’s pyjamas. What use did an 18-year-old _Saviour of the bloody Wizarding World_ have for such childish clothes? Draco would rather a slow and painful death than to give up his silky, black pyjama sets. His mouth ran dry at the thought of Harry wearing them, the hems riding up to reveal soft, pale skin and—

“You’ve mentioned,” Harry said, almost irritably. He stared at Draco pointedly, his eyebrows lifted to emphasise something unapparent. “ _Why_ do you have to hide your emotions all the time?”

“Why is the sky blue?” That was a muggle expression that Draco had picked up recently, though he had not had an appropriate opening to use it. Honestly, Harry should be proud, but he only looked pissed off. And Draco backtracked. “Should I change who I am to satisfy your ideas of emotional stability?”

Not much better, albeit less sarcastic.

“Nobody is emotionally stable anymore, Draco, haven’t you noticed?” Said Harry sharply. He inhaled and raked a hand through his hair, Draco’s eyes following the movement. “It’s not – well – I’m not trying to change you. I… I only want to _see you_ , without all the shields and defences.”

Draco blinked. “You can’t always get what you want.” He said simply, calmly, and rolled his eyes. He was rather sick of people thinking they could find the _real Draco_. Who the fuck was he if not that? But Harry’s intentions didn’t seem vicious. So, Draco absorbed Harry’s sharp glare and sighed. “Come sleep, Harry. It’s too late for this conversation.”

And Harry folded his arms. He didn’t resist as Draco’s fingers curled around his forearm and pulled him gently. He let himself be led to Draco’s bed and complied without a word when Draco lifted the crumpled duvet, clambering in.

He watched Draco from his narrow half of the bed. It was another ten minutes before either closed their eyes. Draco spent the time scouring Harry’s face, memorizing each slope and shadow and curve. Harry looked back at him.

Draco came to a simple conclusion as his eyes grew too weary to remain open. It was consolidated when he woke up in the early hours of the morning, warm, Harry’s arm curled around his waist, his body lightly pressed to Harry’s.

Draco didn’t want to let go of Harry after Hogwarts. Even if they had still been rivals, it would’ve been true. Some part of Draco had always been tied to Harry, just as their combined actions somehow led to the Dark Lord’s downfall. He didn’t believe their connection would be constrained to a school rivalry and friendship. Harry was more than that, they were more than that. And so,

Draco wanted Harry.

*

“Harry!” He moved slightly at the sound, his shoulders tensing. Draco repeated in a whisper, “Harry…!”

There was nowhere to go and nothing to do on this Saturday morning, besides stress about the countdown to NEWTs. But the room was bright and the sunlight flooded the dorms so easily in this tower; Draco couldn’t sleep, missing the perpetual darkness of the Slytherin dungeons. He even missed the people, perhaps not some of the despicable personalities. Maybe he was still one of them.

Harry stirred.

“Harry, wake up – it’s 9am.”

“It’s the bloody weekend,” Harry groaned and pushed against Draco’s chest for a moment, threatening to roll away. He stopped and collapsed back against him, his arm returning to Draco once more. “What do you want?”

“ _You_ ,” Draco answered quietly. He knew that Harry wouldn’t hear it in his sleepy state, but maybe it would plant the seed in his subconscious. “I want to get out of this bed.”

“No, you don’t,” Harry mumbled. His fingers slid beneath Draco’s shirt, skimming the cold skin and lighting it up. Draco shifted his body automatically, remaining on his back but moving ever so slightly closer to Harry. “Stay with me, please, for a little while. Let’s not leave yet.”

Who could say _no_ to Harry’s rough, groggy morning voice? Not Draco, that was for sure. Especially considering Harry had only kissed him two days ago.

Pansy would never let him live this down if she found out. _When_ she found out. Pansy learnt everybody’s secrets. In fact, Draco had better begin planning his counterattack this very moment.

Draco laid there silently, his arm pinned beneath Harry’s neck, his body delightfully warm. The breaths skimming his shoulder were steady and Draco let his thoughts slow. Did he deserve such a glimpse of peace?

Another fifteen minutes passed before Harry’s warmth vanished. Draco opened his eyes quickly, finding Harry sat up at the other end of the bed, aggressively rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Shall we go for a fly?” Harry asked. His PJ bottoms had risen enough to display toned calves and perpetual scars. 

“Fine,” Said Draco.

Harry positively beamed. “I’ll meet you in the common room in ten.” He shuffled to the edge of the bed, reaching forward to drag open the curtain.

“Hey, stop –Macmillan will see you!” Draco hissed urgently, grabbing Harry’s wrist to hold him in place, and he froze, listening to any signs of life.

“Ernie spends every Saturday morning by the lake, Draco. He’s not here.” Harry told him with an amused smile, shaking Draco’s hand away. “How is it that I know your roommate’s habits better than you do?”

*

As Draco changed into his flying gear (pretty darn fast, urgently tugging the tight fabrics until they melded to his body), he mulled over Harry’s suggestion.

It was out the blue that they were going to meet in public and fly together in the open air and limitless sky, and ignore the whispered gossiping, sharp glares and endless ridicule that was bound to occur on Draco’s side. And all of a sudden, on this bland Saturday morning, Harry was eager to humiliate him?

Well, Draco thought, if he was going to bear the consequences, he should take full advantages of the perks. His reputation would be boosted (his father would be bloody ecstatic to hear so), maybe fewer people would spit on the ground he walked from now onwards, and… and he still had Harry. If there was anything that would draw Harry closer to him, it was others’ criticism – he was a stubborn idiot like that. Harry would defy their expectations; Draco fucking loved the sound of that. Him and Harry, side by side, sticking their middle fingers up at the rest of the world. Draco smiled to himself.

The ancient armchair by the common room exit was slouching under Harry’s weight, Draco noticed. He noticed a lot of other things too as he emerged from the stairwell: the way Harry’s flying kit clung to every muscle and dip, his casual smile as he chatted to a nearby Ravenclaw, the way nobody watched Draco as he walked – not until he stopped dead in front of Harry. That caught a significant amount of attention, several people not so subtly brandishing their wands in preparation for a confrontation. Instead, Harry grinned at him.

“Ready?”

“Clearly,” Replied Draco, badly concealing a matching grin. It broke through a little, a flash of teeth, then it vanished. “Let’s go, before I receive twenty hexes to my back.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, swinging to the faces beyond the pair of them. He turned and led the way into the slightly darker corridor.

They were out into the bitter cold air by the time Harry spoke again.

“Hermione caught me, this morning, leaving your room,” Harry said awkwardly, his hand rising to rub at his neck. His bicep tensed as he did so, and Draco noted how attractive that single move was. Harry as a whole was ridiculously attractive. “Thought you should know-- I, er, know how you might feel about that.”

Glad to have the upper hand for once, Draco shrugged nonchalantly. He had seen this coming, after all. It had been Harry who assumed Draco wasn’t comfortable with anything public. Not that he was entirely comfortable, he just wasn’t prepared yet. These things took time and planning, to ensure the best reception. And for Salazar’s sake, they hadn’t even bloody _talked_ about it.

So, he smiled slightly. “Nothing she probably didn’t already know.”

“That’s true. God, Hermione is too perceptive for her own good sometimes.” Harry added on afterwards, “You know, she guessed what Ron was going to get her for Christmas three months before he’d even thought about it.”

“Weasley is highly predictable, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got her a tacky necklace and an exam planner,” Draco said, watching the quidditch field as it drew closer and closer.

Harry stared at him in awe, he grinned, “That’s _exactly_ what he got her! Although the necklace wasn’t tacky, he spent nearly all his savings on that necklace. He didn’t even get me a bloody gift.” Harry swayed slightly as he walked, his head tilted up to the clouds as he smiled. “I guess that’s what happens when you love someone – you would spend all your money just to make them smile for a moment.”

Draco said nothing, suddenly thinking of his vaults filled with gold in Gringotts (the safest place on Earth according to all but the Golden Trio). Even after the Ministry’s heavy war reparation fees and taxes that ripped most of his family’s wealth to shreds, Draco had enough but so little that he could withdraw it all in two trips. He could quite literally spend his entire lifetime wealth on a birthday gift for—

“What did Granger get him?” He asked suddenly. “Weasley. What did she get Weasley in return? A year’s worth of stationery and a brand-new scarf?”

Harry smiled a little. It wasn’t a full-blown grin as Draco wished for, only halfway there. “Not quite. It was actually very sentimental. Hermione, er, was rather embarrassed when he opened her gifts.” Harry paused. “But of course, she remembered to get me a gift, unlike Ron.”

Weasley had never quite deserved Harry. Draco knew that much.

Did anyone deserve him?

They had reached the broom shed and Harry summoned his broom without a word. Draco followed suit, and before he knew it, they were soaring high above the Quidditch Pitch. The wind was whipping through his hair and curving around his body. Draco felt free. Harry was soaring nearby, weaving through imaginary obstacles and speeding past Draco once in a while with a yelled, “I’ll race you!” But by the time, Draco’s mind had caught up with the words, Harry was a hundred yards ahead, laughing and looking over his shoulder.

He flew loops around Draco, brushing his shoulder when he flew parallel before splitting off to the closest spectator stand and shooting into the far distance. The air was filled with Harry’s laughter and soon, it mixed with Draco’s. He raced Harry around the posts and to the ground and up to the sky. He chased Harry, on his tail but never managing to push past, as he set unconventional courses, determined to thrown Draco off.

Harry succeeded for a while, until Draco unleased the competitiveness he’d been constraining (perhaps under the premise of being a gentleman). The fire ripped free inside of him and Draco reached Harry in an instant, he soared ahead, glancing over his shoulder. Harry was grinning, his eyes shining.

A snitch that Harry had been keeping safe inside his jacket snuck into the air ahead of them, and they revelled in the competition. Draco flew until the broom bore blisters into his fingers and his cheeks ached from laughing. He was only 1 down. Harry, being the Quidditch Prodigy that he was claimed to be, was winning 3-2 as evident from the smug smirk on his face. His own little fan club was cheering from the stands now, yelling his name, sending equally passionate glares at Draco.

They touched down at the centre of the pitch. Draco’s legs wobbled, acclimatising to the feel of land once more. He looked at Harry and the way he was clunking his boots together, eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

“Harry?”

“Mm, yeah?” Harry said, his gaze lifting from the wet grass that was smothering his boots. With sparkling eyes, it landed on Draco, infinitely heavy and light. It matched with a small smile and his pink cheeks and the slight tilt to his head and his stupid messy hair and everything about him. 

That gaze – Despite everything they’d been through, Draco felt that he’d never grow to regret what came next, no matter how unprepared he was. Maybe, sometime in the not-so-distant future, Harry would piss him off and be bloody righteous and so fucking Gryffindor. But Draco wouldn’t regret choosing to smile at Harry and striding forward. His broom fell to the ground and Harry’s eyes widened.

“I want you, Harry.” Draco uttered quietly. He was a step away from Harry’s innocently unsuspecting expression when he repeated it more firmly. “I want you, Harry Potter. And I’ll be damned if I don’t get you.”

Draco’s lips met Harry’s a little more forcefully than he intended – heat of the moment – but Harry’s mouth parted without hesitance. There was an instant heat that rose up Draco’s body, curling around his lungs and squeezing them tight, as Harry’s hands scrambled for purchase on Draco’s jacket, insistently tugging Draco closer, deeper.

Was he supposed to feel a fire of burning desire in his core? It had never felt like this before, so utterly exposed and protected. Harry’s lips were wide apart, offering everything he needed. Draco bit Harry’s bottom lip, propelled further when Harry released a tiny gasp, his fingers grabbling for Draco’s neck. The touch was hot against his skin, lighting alive every nerve.

Then it vanished from his lips, withdrawing. Draco opened his eyes, the fingers around his neck sliding to settle at his chest.

“I want you too, Draco,” Harry said, breathing far heavier than before, his pupils dilated. He looked fucking gorgeous, and, well, fuckable. “If it wasn’t bloody obvious already.”

“What a relief,” Draco remarked sarcastically, wasting no time as he leaned in for another kiss.

It was slower, unapologetic, not so frantic. He’d have plenty of time to kiss Harry. So, he pulled their bodies closer together, pressing into Harry’s mouth with patience and expertise, craving the moment he’d get to unravel Harry into less than the panting mess he was already. He drew away gently.

“How about we get somewhere a little more private?” Draco said, his breaths skimming Harry’s pink lips. He flicked his eyes up towards the gaping audience and the pointing fingers. “Unless exhibitionism is something you’d like to try?”

Harry 's gaze followed his, widening as though he’d forgotten the clusters of lovestruck fans that had been watching them fly for the past hour. He swallowed heavily, turning back to Draco. “Let’s go, they’ve had their fair share of my private life for a century.”

Harry picked up his broom that must’ve been thrust to the grass at some point and grasped Draco’s hand with the other, lacing their fingers together.

“I know the perfect place,” Draco murmured against his ear, as Harry’s body moved to press against his side. “Nothing but the best for the Chosen One.”

With a small scowl, Harry tossed him a look. Although, it was too shrouded in lust to be convincing. The grip on his hand tightened.

Draco smirked, “I’ve been waiting for this.”

*

Granger’s eyes landed on him from the moment she walked into the common room, Weasley on her tail. She looked intimidating enough to make Draco shift in his seat and shuffle further into the corner of the sofa as Granger made a beeline to him, pausing momentarily to greet their schoolmates but never shifting her gaze.

Weasley and Granger deposited themselves on the opposite sofa, stiff expressions setting the mood. Draco could sense something coming, a lecture perhaps, or maybe a warning. He wouldn’t listen anyway. Granger wouldn’t change his mind on one particular thing (or person). Although, he could commend her posture, it gave Pansy a run for her money.

“Draco.”

“Malfoy.” Weasley said simultaneously, his fingers curled around his wand.

“Good afternoon,” Draco responded, a cool grace about him (or so he hoped). He wouldn’t dare admit it to anybody, least of all Harry, but his boyfriend’s friends did scare him a little. They did collectively defeat the Dark Lord, after all. If _that_ wrath ever manifested towards Draco, he would be running for the hills with his dignity intact.

“Look, Draco, we wanted to talk about your… relationship with Harry,” Granger told him, wringing her hands in her lap, looking far too uncomfortable for this conversation. “To be entirely honest, we didn’t expect that it would last any longer than a week. Do you really think this will work out?”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, it took all the strength Draco had to smile sweetly and nod. “You’re concerned after three weeks? Do you really not trust Harry’s judgement? I’m sure he can alleviate your worries.”

“That, I can.” Harry’s voice cut in. He slipped around his friends’ sofa and sat himself down at Draco’s side, curving into the gap Draco had prepared for him.

Draco lifted his eyebrows smugly, his gaze directed at Weasley. Of course he had seen Harry coming - he could probably sense Harry's presence with his eyes closed by now. But Draco had just let Granger go tumbling into her self-dug hole and hoped she’d plunge a little deeper.

“You can’t change my mind, Hermione. I will continue to choose to be with Draco,” Harry said firmly. “I’m an adult capable of making responsible decisions in his own love-life, remember?”

“Besides, if you’re concerned for his health, you can rest assured that I take great care of him. And we sleep better than ever,” Draco answered with a smirk. “Right, Harry?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed pink, he adjusted his position to better lean against Draco, and nodded. “Yeah, er, I’ve never slept better.”

Weasley’s grip on his wand tightened, lifting a little. It was quite satisfying, winding him up like the earlier school years. The little things seemed to irritate Weasley, such as the way Draco’s hand slid down Harry’s thigh right now to rest at his knee. 

Draco knew he’d have to build a semblance of friendship with the both of Harry’s friends – but that was a challenge for later months (and years).

“If you don’t mind,” Draco said, rising to his feet and hooking Harry’s hand in his. “We have somewhere to be.”

The glares followed him silently as Harry and him made their way to the stairs, climbing until they reached Draco’s room. The door opened with a familiar creak, Harry falling backwards onto it as it closed behind them.

“Macmillan knows not to come back for a few hours,” Draco said nonchalantly, wandering to his bed, lifting his loose shirt over his head. Harry was peeling off his robes behind him, they were dropping to the floor. “We’re in the clear until dinner.”

Draco laid against the headboard of his bed and turned towards Harry.

His eyes were on Draco, trailing down his bare chest at an agonisingly slow pace, and he was taking slow steps towards the bed. The low-hanging sun was casting rich shades of gold and vibrant orange upon Harry’s body, dancing around his movements, illuminating him in a shimmer.

The bedframe released a heavy groan when Harry clambered onto his knees at the far end of the bed, his (once again) overgrown hair draped across his forehead, eyes locked on Draco. In a gradual, casual crawl, Harry made his way towards Draco. His gaze was heavy, piercing and emerald. Draco’s mouth ran dry.

Harry hovered over the spread of his body for a moment, lingering, creating a moment of suspense in the air between their almost-bare bodies. His hands were planted on either side of Draco's shoulders. Then he dropped with an _umph_.

Limbs wrapped around Draco, lethargic limbs that took their time to curve around his cold frame and squeeze gently. Harry smiled against his chest, Draco could feel it: the extension of his lips, the slight hardness of teeth. He kissed the space between Draco’s shoulder and his collar bone, the moment after. Draco pulled Harry closer.

Draco pulled him closer until his hair tickled Draco’s neck and his body didn’t end where Draco’s began. The covers tugged themselves free from beneath them, only to lay across the two men. It became their personal bubble of warmth and safety, and the sunlight danced across the ceiling for Draco as he pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head.

“I’m so—” Harry interrupted himself with a deep yawn, the hot air hitting Draco’s chest as he exhaled in a rush. “—tired. But I’m happy, here with you…”

Draco’s fingers slid up Harry’s nape, into knotty hair, and smiled unapologetically. He was happy too; Draco was allowed to be happy, to have Harry, to have moments like these before the world grew too big and complicated again.

Just Potter and him in one another’s arms.

“Go to sleep, Harry.” He said quietly in the voice reserved for Harry. “I won’t let go.”

He couldn’t reverse time. But from now on, Draco would protect Harry or die trying. 

That was the vulnerability of love. 

_-the end -_

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya!
> 
> This is my first Drarry fic, pretty intimidating :o But I hoped you liked it!  
> Unfortunately, I am not fantastic at writing dialogue (my northern dialect is _really_ different from the way most HP characters speak) but I did my best. I now realise that I fucked up the sunrises a tad, because I forgot how awfully dark our winters are (the sun refusing to rise until 8am) until the UK was cast into darkness again this year - oh well!
> 
> Let me know what you think :)
> 
> Stay safe,  
> niemi
> 
> P.S. This work was recently moved to this account, hence the replies to many of the lovely comments being written by "niemi_20" :)


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